


Czuć Do Kogoś Miętę

by stratumgermanitivum, whiskeyandspite



Series: Prompt Stories [18]
Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: ABO, Accidental Pregnancy, Alpha Geralt, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Attachment, Banter, Crack, Graphic Descriptions of Innards, Heat Cycles, Inappropriate Places to Nest, It's Possible Geralt Smiles Once, M/M, Mpreg, Omega Jaskier, Pups, Rut, Sarcasm, True Mates, adoration
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-04
Updated: 2020-06-01
Packaged: 2021-03-02 17:01:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 18,719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24010243
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stratumgermanitivum/pseuds/stratumgermanitivum, https://archiveofourown.org/users/whiskeyandspite/pseuds/whiskeyandspite
Summary: He wasn’t stupid, he was just adventurous. Occasionally he’d agree that he was a little bit reckless, but nothing to what Geralt was on a good day, let alone a bad one.It just so happened to be a bad one when whatever Geralt had been trying to destroy decided it was far more interested in Jaskier instead of being repeatedly stabbed, so it rushed him.Geralt claims that Witchers can't find - or be - bonded mates, that they never present a dynamic, that they're infertile and "not even like betas"....but are they though?
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Prompt Stories [18]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1575220
Comments: 231
Kudos: 2096
Collections: Good Relationship Etiquette (familial included) - or Good BDSM Etiquette - or Good Relationship and BDSM Etiquette





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [what_about_the_fish](https://archiveofourown.org/users/what_about_the_fish/gifts).



> God. _God_ we had so much fun with this we can't even tell you. Their banter alone is *chef's kiss* to write and play with. And heck, why not use our second foray into the Witcher fandom to throw some ABO into there.
> 
> This chapter features descriptions of graphic disembowling and the use of said bowels for nest-making. It's gory but it's not violent or brutal, and neither of our boys are hurt by it. Really. But keep a sharp eye.

Geralt looked like the perfect stereotype of every Alpha Jaskier had ever daydreamed about. 

Tall, though Jaskier was of a decent height himself. Burly and broad shouldered in a way that surely meant he could toss Jaskier around the way Jaskier liked best. His voice had a thrilling gravelly quality to it, and his  _ hands _ , well, Jaskier had some ideas for those hands. His eyes tended more towards Omegan gold, but that could be blamed on whatever had made him a Witcher. 

Also to be blamed on such an event was his scent. Geralt didn’t smell like an Alpha. He didn’t even smell like a Beta, with their neutral tones. Geralt’s scent was so mild as to be almost nonexistent, as if he didn’t give off any pheromones whatsoever. 

“Witchers don’t present,” Geralt explained one night, when he finally grew tired of Jaskier prodding at him. “Pheromones. Cycles. All of it can get you killed in battle. The ritual we undertake takes care of that.”

“But then how will your mate find-“

“Witchers don’t have true mates.”

“Everyone has a true mate. Even Betas.”

“We aren’t Betas. We aren’t anything.” Geralt gave Jaskier a hard look. “And Magic can sever any bond, if it must.”

“What a predictably pessimistic concept,” the bard replied, hands out behind him as he stretched his weary legs out towards the fire. “If Magic can sever any bond, surely it can  _ make _ some.”

“Why?” Geralt shook embers from the end of the stick he’d been stoking the fire with. “Why put myself or anyone else through my life when I can happily avoid it all.”

“Well, yes, you’re fantastic at avoidance,” Jaskier ceded. “Though, for some reason, not when it comes to bar brawls when I’m  _ singing, _ but I suppose you rarely actually speak your mind either, and just outright  _ telling me _ you’re not fond of the ballad is out of the question.”

“Jaskier.”

“I wouldn’t bring it up if it hadn’t happened more than once,” Jaskier shrugged. “Hurts a man’s feelings.”

“Good,” Geralt sighed, bringing a hand up to rub his eyes. “Might teach you not to wear them on your sleeves for all to see.”

“I enjoy putting myself out there,” the bard grinned. “There’s an entire world out here, why waste it cloistered up in my own head?”

For a while they didn’t speak again. Mostly, their interactions were brief and spirited, before one or the other sought silence to gather their thoughts and start up again. Jaskier was certain that Geralt found their banter as thrilling as he did, but just didn’t know how to control his facial expressions to show anything but the entire spectrum of disdain.

He’d get a smile out of him eventually.

He hadn’t for well over a year of following him about, but what’s a year in a life of adventure?

“I just can’t imagine being so  _ lonely,” _ Jaskier said after a while, the fire was crackling loudly between them, flames licking at the night sky. Roach had shuffled around in a semi-circle behind Geralt, seeking sweeter grass than what she’d found beneath the little copse of trees by the water.

“You say lonely,” Geralt replied, “I say content.”

Jaskier rolled his eyes. “You seek companionship in every town we pass through.” 

“Sex is not the same as companionship,” Geralt pointed out. “ _ You _ are companionship, and I’ve attempted to lose you more than once.”

“Oh please,” Jaskier said, leaning back to eye Geralt up. “Without me, you'd be talking to the horse.”

“And the conversation would be much more satisfactory. Jaskier.” Geralt’s eyes narrowed, his lip curled. “Drop it.”

Jaskier dropped it, but only for a short while. It came up again on their travels, more than once. Sometimes, Geralt silenced him with another such look. Sometimes they bickered, mostly playful, but at least partially irritation, each baffled by the other. 

Once, Geralt shoved him up against a tree and told him to mind his own fucking business. Jaskier chalked that one up to being covered in monster guts at the time. 

They never quite came to an agreement on it, but nor did they part. Jaskier followed Geralt through every adventure. It was, he believed, the one benefit to Geralt’s unnatural sex; most Alphas would not have been able to tolerate an Omega, even one not their own, so close to danger. 

And Jaskier was always stepping just a bit too close to the danger. 

He wasn’t  _ stupid, _ he was just adventurous. Occasionally he’d agree that he was a little bit reckless, but nothing to what Geralt was on a good day, let alone a bad one.

It just so happened to be a bad one when whatever Geralt had been trying to destroy decided it was far more interested in Jaskier instead of being repeatedly stabbed, so it rushed him.

“Don’t  _ run from it!” _

Jaskier cursed. “Well I’m not going to fucking let it  _ kill me!” _

He wasn’t a terrible runner. Short distances? Very effective. But he hadn’t paced himself for this unexpected onslaught of physical activity and was tiring quickly. He needed a tree or something, somewhere high enough that he could cling pathetically to a branch until Geralt had dispatched whatever-it-was beastie and got him the hell down again.

Jaskier would even take the humiliation of asking for help on the matter, but that wouldn’t even happen if he didn’t  _ find a tree to climb. _

When he did, and as he was clambering his way up it like some drenched rodent, Geralt’s voice boomed from below:  _ don’t climb up either, it lives in the trees! _

Well then.

“That would have been  _ helpful to know _ ,” Jaskier yelled back, still pulling his exhausted body upwards,  _ “before I started climbing.” _

Geralt cursed, whatever was trying to eat Jaskier roared, and Jaskier screamed - it didn’t even matter who heard anymore, only that he was making a sound. If he was making noise, he was still alive, and if he was still alive he would beat the ever-living shit out of Geralt when he climbed down from the tree again and make him buy Jaskier a new lute for his trouble.

Something scraped at his leg, claws tearing effortlessly through the fabric of his trousers. They missed his flesh by a literal hair, and he lost one of his boots in the flailing struggle. 

Jaskier shrieked again, high, plaintive. He was normally much better at withholding his instincts, but there was nothing left to do but keen in distress, the sound high and distinctly Omegan. Had they been in a village, he’d have had every Alpha in town scrambling to soothe him. Even some of the mated ones; Jaskier was well aware of his own appeal. 

But there were no Alphas here, only Geralt, and that was better. The creature would have swallowed Alphas whole, but  _ Geralt… _

Jaskier just barely managed to pull himself properly onto a branch, just in time to hear a gravelly roar from beneath him. 

It wasn’t the monster. In fact, the monster had stopped following him, turning on the hunter that pursued it. This roar, instead, was the sort that sent Jaskier’s instincts screaming, that brought slick into being despite Jaskier’s terror. It was the sort of distinct Alpha sound that told Omegas to behave, to placate and please, and Jaskier had never heard it so  _ close _ before. He shook as he clung to the tree trunk, staring down wide eyed as he tried to locate the Alpha and warn them away. They’d be eaten alive if they attracted the creature’s attention. 

Try as he might, though, Jaskier couldn’t find the Alpha. He could only see Geralt and the creature, grappling at each other, Geralt’s sword glinting and bloody. 

For the best, then. Maybe the Alpha heard Jaskier’s panic, came to investigate, and rightfully backed the fuck off. Now that Geralt had the upper hand he’d dispatch the damn thing quickly enough and they could be on their way; having an Alpha tagging along would only make things awkward. Even during his heats - which Geralt had never responded to, it had been the most bizarre thing - Jaskier had been polite enough to sequester himself away.

Sure, he’d be out of his mind with lust for three days but he could be  _ considerate _ about it.

The tree shuddered as the beast and the Witcher both struck it full force, and Jaskier wrapped his limbs around the branch like his life - literally - depended on it. He’d seen Geralt take down several creatures at once before, he’d seen him cut his way out of the belly of one who’d swallowed him whole. He wasn’t worried that Geralt would  _ lose, _ he was more concerned about the possibility of the tree falling with him in it before he brought the creature down.

Another shudder through the trunk and Jaskier whined, uncaring anymore if anyone heard because it didn’t matter. He was scared. Any sane person would be scared.

Then he heard that roar again, that primal scream that made him feel at once safe and on edge; because Alphas shouldn’t make that sound at their Omega, Omegas should never do anything to warrant it.

There was a sharp cry and a gurgling, wet sound and the tree shook one more time before the sounds of struggle faded. Jaskier could only hear his breathing, panicked and quick, and the low, barely-there sound of a defensive Alpha growl. God… where was it coming from? Who would even want to be anywhere near here right now?

_ “Jaskier!” _

“Fine, I’m fine,” he managed, loud enough to hear. He continued to cling to the branch, however. “I’ll take my time getting down on my own, thank you very much.”

“Down here,  _ right now, Jaskier.” _

“Demanding much?” The bard called back, sitting up just a little and looking over the side of the branch to the mess below. He’d wanted to say more, he always did, but he couldn’t. Geralt was looking at him in a way he’d never looked at him before, even when Jaskier had done something  _ incredibly _ stupid, and his eyes weren’t Witcher gold. They weren’t even their washed out pale color.

They were red.

“Ah,” Jaskier managed. “That’s… interesting.”

Geralt  _ rumbled.  _ There was no other word for it. Jaskier knew that if he could reach out and touch him, his chest would vibrate with the force of it. “Come. Here.”

Jaskier hesitated. 

“I’m, uh, not sure I should, actually-“

“Omega.”

Jaskier had never submitted to a lover before for anything more than a playful romp. He’d never felt the need. No Alpha had been his true mate, none could sink in and hook him so easily. 

But the sharp, stern tone froze Jaskier in his tracks. 

“ _ Now _ ,” Geralt growled, his nails digging into the bark of the tree as he leaned against it. Another trickle of slick wet Jaskier’s undergarments. 

“Right, right,” Jaskier babbled. “I’m on my way, just… a moment of patience, please, Geralt.”

And he  _ moved _ . Instead of staying up the damn tree until Geralt calmed down and got over whatever bloodlust had hit his system, Jaskier climbed down towards him, and the mess of guts and viscera that was all that remained of whatever had chased Jaskier up the tree in the first place.

He crouched on a branch several feet above the ground, just out of arm’s reach, and gestured towards his fallen boot.

“D’you mind?”

Geralt’s lips pulled back in a snarl and Jaskier found himself landing on quiet feet in front of him, mess be damned. He could always bathe later. They’d need to anyway, and -

“Ger-  _ shit _ , umm,  _ oww,” _ shoved up against the trunk where Geralt had been digging into it gave Jaskier a very good idea of how serious he’d been about getting him down to the ground. The way Geralt shoved up against him, their bodies flush, Jaskier feeling the blood and bile and whatever else Geralt was covered in seeping into his clothes, made it all the clearer.

Geralt’s irises were rimmed red and blown wide, and he smelled - oh he smelled so good. He’d never smelled like that before to Jaskier. He never should have, according to his own stupid theory on Witchers but… here they were. 

And  _ there _ was Geralt’s cock, heavy and very hard, pressing up against Jaskier’s thigh and the thought of it was as frightening as it was arousing. He set his hands against Geralt’s neck, fingers gentle, just holding on.

“I’m alright,” he said. “I’m fine. You don’t have to -  _ oh- _ kay.” Jaskier obediently lifted his chin as Geralt scented him, finding his eyelids fluttering closed against his express permission, his body opening up to this suddenly very welcome invasion of his personal space. He hummed, helpless, at a loss entirely as to what to do. He’d had aggressively sexual Alphas in his bed before, of course, but this was a whole new level of violence he hadn’t witnessed before. Hell, he’d only ever heard rumors about Alphas going into rut, but he was sure that’s what was happening.

Geralt didn’t even answer him in words anymore, just low growls and hissed snarls when Jaskier tried to wriggle free.

“Alpha?” He tried, finally, and that word snapped Geralt out of his almost painful nuzzling, brought their eyes together again. “I’m alright, you can let me go. Safe and sound, see?”

Geralt grunted, jaw working, before pressing their foreheads together, one hand cupping Jaskier’s jaw. “Safe.” He growled. “Safe. Nest. Nest for Omega.”

“Oh! No, that’s… no need for that -”

Geralt showed his teeth and Jaskier whined, head dropping back hard against the tree as he presented his throat, gave in - as though he could fight his damn instincts with this.

“Nest, yes, good, very good, nest.”  _ Where?  _ Where the hell would they even find - “Please just not in… in that. Well. It… it could be worse, I suppose.” Though Jaskier didn’t know  _ how _ , when Geralt was dragging him back towards the enormous carcass of the thing he’d killed and shoving them both to the blood-sticky mud beside it.

At least they weren’t  _ in it. _

If one assumed that the purpose of a nest was to build up walls around an Omega to shield them from view, to encircle them and make it easy for their Alpha to conceal them with nothing but the nest and their own body, then yes, Jaskier supposed they were technically in a nest. Jaskier had always preferred his nests to contain silks and overstuffed pillows, but under those  _ very generous _ conditions, Geralt dragging limbs and guts in a circle around him could be considered nesting. 

It was, without a doubt, the  _ foulest _ nest Jaskier had ever been tucked into, but Geralt didn’t seem open to constructive criticism today. Or any day, really, but certainly not when his eyes were red and he was tucking his nose up under Jaskier’s jaw. 

“Perhaps a bath?” Jaskier suggested meekly, though of course, there was no use arguing with an Alpha in rut. Particularly what was no doubt Geralt’s  _ first _ rut, and several years late. 

Geralt drew his sharp teeth over the mating gland in Jaskier’s throat. Jaskier let out a ragged, unexpected moan, and felt yet more slick dampen his clothing. The scent of viscera wasn’t usually what did it for him, but it turned out that true mates- for they must be, certainly, with how Geralt responded to him- could be nothing  _ but _ arousing. 

Geralt sniffed him, embarrassingly loud and followed by a ravenous growl that threatened to haunt Jaskier’s warmest of dreams. He yanked at the buttons of Jaskier’s shirt with fingers that may as well have been claws, and Jaskier heard something rip. 

Well. He wouldn’t have been able to clean the mess out of that shirt anyway. It didn’t matter. Nor did the pants that Geralt tore apart next. He’d get new clothes. If he could find his pack in the madness of all of this - he hoped it was still tied to Roach, wherever she’d hidden herself - he had a spare change of clothes in there that would suit until they came upon a village with a well stocked market.

But then Geralt was nosing against Jaskier’s belly, and down beneath his navel and clothes didn’t matter anymore because who the  _ fuck _ needed clothes, when -

“Geralt,” he squirmed a little breath catching as wide hands, huge hands, pressed to his hip and held him still. “God you smell so good, it’s not even fair.”

“Present,” Geralt growled roughly nuzzling his face against the insides of Jaskier’s thighs, just close enough to where he  _ wanted him to be _ .

“Can you just -”

_ “Present, Omega,” _

God that tone, that rumble that shook Jaskier’s bones and made him feel like his limbs were made of water. He scrambled around on the filthy ground to get into position, gasping when Geralt tore - quite literally  _ tore _ \- aside the last of the fabric covering him and laid himself over Jaskier’s back instead.

Heavy and hot and protective and -

He wasn’t even that slick - was he? - he wasn’t in  _ heat _ \- definitely not - he couldn’t just be  _ mated _ like this… could he?

Apparently, he could. The head of Geralt’s cock caught against his rim, and Jaskier let out a mortifying little squeak as he pushed. 

He didn’t feel ready, though he was well on his way with the sudden thick scent of Alpha flooding his senses. It felt like Geralt must have spent his entire life hoarding pheromones, only to release them on Jaskier all at once. 

And yet, as Geralt pushed in, inch by inch, Jaskier took it. It burned, but didn’t tear, though Geralt’s cock was about as small as the rest of him, which was to say, impossibly huge. Jaskier’s nails dug furrows into the mud, and Geralt shoved him down deeper into it. 

“Omega,” Geralt rumbled, and it was a pleased, self-satisfied sound. Jaskier’s own voice caught in his throat. He was breathless as Geralt pulled out and then thrust roughly back in. 

Geralt fucked like he did everything else: full bodied, with smooth, beautifully violent motions. He overwhelmed Jaskier with each motion, wrapping a hand around his throat to feel it bob with his gasping cries. His nails were sharp against Jaskier’s skin,  _ everything _ was so much against Jaskier’s skin. 

So he lost himself, allowing his moans and whines of pleasure to pull free and loud from his throat as Geralt fucked deeper into him, made a space for himself in Jaskier’s body. No other Alpha had ever made him feel so full, so fulfilled. Geralt worked an orgasm from Jaskier without even touching him, while his face was smeared against the mud and gunk and blood beneath them.

That was a first.

It wasn’t the last, however. Far from it.

Jaskier came twice more before he even felt Geralt’s knot against him, and when he did, he didn’t immediately try to squirm free as he often did with other Alphas. Usually the arrangement was simple: we fuck, you don’t knot me. During heat, there were exceptions, but Jaskier took very potent herbs that entire week and the week after to prevent the heat taking.

Now, as Geralt shoved harder against him, digging his knees into the muck, his hands into Jaskier’s skin hard enough to bruise so he would  _ stay still _ , Jaskier whimpered, reaching back to catch slippery fingers against Geralt’s arm.

“Bite,” he whined. “Bite me.”

Geralt shuddered, the word pulling something even more primal, even more animalistic from him than his rut had. He folded himself over Jaskier and wrapped an arm around his stomach, yanking him up and back against him, knot teasing his sensitive rim.

_ “Alpha - _ ”

Geralt bit him. Hard. He broke skin and kept biting down, enough that Jaskier was worried he’d just take a chunk out of him to carry around as a goddamn prize or something.

His worries vanished when he felt the stretch of the knot, opening him wide. He reached back to claw at Geralt’s hips, sobbing out as Geralt began to flood him. 

Jaskier felt stuffed full. Geralt’s knot plugged him, held wave after wave of hot, viscous fluid inside him. Jaskier whined, overwhelmed by every point of contact and yet afraid to pull away. 

Geralt’s tongue lapped gently at the scar. There was a rumble of pleasure against Jaskier’s back, a full-blown Alpha purr. 

“Good, Omega.”

Jaskier shuddered, tilting his head back to let Geralt clean the wound he’d made. “Couldn’t have gone easy on me, could you?”

Geralt hadn’t yet returned to himself enough to answer. He shoved Jaskier further into the mud, collapsing over his back to pin him. 

Jaskier had never let an Alpha pin him for sleep. It might have been tempting, if not for the mud. Jaskier sputtered and squirmed. 

“Geralt! Let up, would you?  _ Surely _ a bath and a bedroll would be preferable?”

“No.” Geralt rumbled against him. “Stay.”

“Oh, like hell,” Jaskier muttered, allowing himself to be held down and kept warm and purred around - that felt rather nice, actually - but as soon as he felt Geralt’s knot start to contract he was out from under him quick as his exhausted body allowed. Thank God for Alpha ruts exhausting them as much as heats exhausted Omegas. By the time he reached out trying to yank Jaskier back under him, the bard pulled back his arm and socked him in the face.

“Oww!” Flexing his fingers and shaking his hand over and over Jaskier gave Geralt a sulky look. “How do you  _ do _ that all the time?  _ Oww. _ God that hurts.”

“You hit me.”

Now that sounded like Geralt.  _ Actual _ , sane - somewhat sane - grumpy shit Geralt.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Jaskier glared at him. “I hit you in the face  _ once _ , after you  _ drag me into a monster carcass to mate me _ and I’m supposed to feel sorry for  _ you.” _

Geralt blinked. Eyes cool and blue again, no longer rimmed red, no longer black with desire. “What?”

Jaskier tilted his head and tapped his throat, just below the mutilated gland. He would never be delicately skinned again, not with the scar Geralt’s teeth would leave, and not even a  _ pretty  _ scar. Geralt had better turn out to be a perfect Alpha. 

They were true mates, of  _ course  _ Geralt would be his perfect Alpha, but Jaskier leveled him with a glare anyway. He owed Jaskier a hot bath and a  _ proper  _ nest, heat or no heat. 

“Mated me,” he said slowly, “in a  _ monster carcass.” _ He pointed to said carcass, which was already beginning to stink of rot. 

Geralt looked from the bite to the creature, brow furrowed. Jaskier could see the moment the memories began to filter in past the post-rut haze. 

“Oh  _ fuck _ ,” Geralt grumbled. 

“Yes,” Jaskier said, one eyebrow raised. “ _ Thoroughly.  _ Now, if you don’t mind, I am dripping with  _ beastie bile  _ and  _ semen _ , and I’d very much like to stop. Where is Roach?”

“She’s safe.”

“Well that’s  _ wonderful, _ I’m glad one of us is. When will she come back?”

“When I call her.”

Jaskier leveled Geralt with a glare so baleful the Witcher looked away first. “Then could you  _ do that please?” _

Geralt groaned, a low and displeased sound, and pushed himself up to sit on his knees in the muck. The way he brought his lips together and whistled suggested nothing special, but the sound  _ carried _ , far enough, Jaskier would guess, that the next damn village could hear it. Soon, there was the familiar sound of snorting and careful clopping as Roach made her way to the beast and around it, shying back when Geralt reached out.

Jaskier snorted.

“See? I’m not the only one who finds all this  _ vile, _ Geralt. Now get up. Put something on that isn’t… dripping.”

“What’s the rush?”

Jaskier ignored him for a moment, pushing himself up with a sound of disgust and making his way over to where his boot had fallen. It wasn’t terribly worse for wear, and boots weren’t cheap. He’d keep those. The rest? The rest would have to go.

“I want a bath,” Jaskier told him. “I want to sit by a fire in new clothes that you, by the way, will get for me, to make up for all… this. And then you’re going to  _ explain to me _ how Mister Not-Like-Betas went into a fucking  _ rut _ and dragged me out of a tree to take it out on.”

“I have no idea.”

“Well, you have till the next village to figure it out,” Jaskier told him, catching Roach by her reins and soothing her as he found his pack. Then he changed his mind, shoving his foot into his boot and peeling away whatever remained of his clothing before taking Geralt’s heavy cloak to wrap himself in. “The least you can do,” he muttered, crossing his arms over his middle.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _The mark at Jaskier’s throat was something neither of them could deny or fight against. It just was, and thus, they were. This. Together. Forever._
> 
> _Oh god._
> 
> _“How long do Witchers live again?” Jaskier asked._
> 
> _“Until they die.”_
> 
> ...we're mated, now what??

The innkeeper hadn’t wanted to deal with either of them, reeking as they were, but he had slightly more sympathy for Jaskier. People tended to be kinder to Omegas to begin with, and Jaskier’s bond Mark was still sluggishly bleeding. 

“I could call the town guard,” the man whispered as he handed Jaskier a key. “If the Witcher has forced you-“

“That won’t be necessary,” Jaskier said impatiently. “Now,  _ dinner,  _ on the other hand…”

They’d had to eat in the stables with Roach, wolfing down bread and stew in starved silence. Geralt ate all of his own and half of Jaskier’s, his unexpected rut leaving him famished. By the time they were done, a steaming bath had been poured in their room, and Jaskier wasted no time stripping. 

“For once in your life, Geralt, you can let someone  _ else _ have the first bath. And then you can explain to me what the hell just happened.”

“I don’t know what happened,” Geralt told him. Again. For the fifteenth time since Jaskier had first asked him. He had no idea what came over him. “One minute I was telling you not to climb that fucking tree, and the next you were punching me in the face.”

Jaskier raised an eyebrow, sinking into the water up to his shoulders before dunking himself under entirely, resurfacing with a groan.

“You don’t remember anything in between?”

“Flashes,” Geralt shrugged. Most of the muck had dried on his skin and hair and clothes, now, but he thankfully didn’t try to sit on anything or lean on anything as he waited for Jaskier to get out of the tub. “Worry, need, heat. The taste of blood.”

“Yeah, that would be me,” the bard replied, wincing as he worked a washcloth over the bonding mark. “I thought you were going to bite my head off. For a second figured Witchers were like praying mantises or something. But no, if that were the case, I’d be the one chewing  _ your _ head off, wouldn’t I?”

“You chew my ear off already,” Geralt replied, dry. Jaskier snorted, continuing to scrub himself beneath the water. Geralt sighed, rolling his head between his shoulders. “So… what now?”

“What now?” Jaskier wrung the cloth as dry as he could and slapped it over the edge of the tub. “Now we’re mated. And if your instincts are anything like the shit you pulled out there, I’m expecting you to spoil me rotten.”

“Why would I do that?”

“Because you’re my Alpha,” Jaskier told him, standing up and letting the water run down his body as he squeezed out his hair as best he could. “And that’s your  _ job.” _

“I didn’t ask for this.”

“Oh, and I did, did I?” Jaskier tucked a towel around his middle and stepped closer. “I asked to be bonded to a Witcher in the middle of a blind rut in the  _ guts of the thing you’d just killed _ did I? No. I don’t think so. But since  _ you _ couldn’t keep it in your pants, you’re going to take  _ some _ responsibility.”

“It wasn’t supposed to happen,” Geralt ground out, shoving past Jaskier to the tub. The water was already murky from Jaskier’s muddied bath, but Geralt didn’t seem to care. He could scrub the worst of it, anyway, and he could always get another kettle full to wipe down with when the girl came back to take it away. Jaskier had seen him clean himself with less. 

“Well it  _ did-“ _

“It wasn’t supposed to be  _ possible-“ _

“And  _ yet-“ _

“Shut  _ up, _ Jaskier!”

Jaskier’s mouth snapped shut, more from offense than any instinctual obedience, though Geralt still radiated domineering Alpha from every pore. Geralt leaned over the edge of the tub, clinging to it with white-knuckled hands. Jaskier had never seen him look so pale before. 

“We aren’t meant to present,” Geralt said. “The rituals we undergo are supposed to separate us from our base instincts.”

Jaskier bit his lip. “If I might offer a suggestion-“

Geralt shot him a glare, but didn’t interrupt. 

“-not everyone finds their true, destined mate. Most people settle. Could it be that the rituals only deadened you to  _ ordinary _ people? And ordinary situations. After all, you’ve known me for a year now, with no result.”

“Then why  _ now?” _ Geralt growled, though the anger wasn’t directed at anyone or anything in particular. With a sigh he leaned back in the tub and submerged himself in the water for a good few moments, coming up again looking far cleaner. “Why  _ you?” _ he added with a grumble. 

Jaskier cocked his hip and considered him. “This wasn’t in my life plan either, you know,” he told him softly. There was hurt there but not anger. The mark at Jaskier’s throat was something neither of them could deny or fight against. It just was, and thus, they were. This. Together.  _ Forever _ .

Oh god.

“How long do Witchers live again?” Jaskier asked. 

“Until they die.”

Jaskier sighed. God what a mess. 

Stretching, Jaskier worked the towel free to dry his hair, his shoulders. He bent to pat his thighs and legs dry before tossing the towel over his shoulder and reaching for his bag. A sound behind him made him turn. 

Geralt was watching him like a hawk, eyes wide and eating up every inch of skin Jaskier had on display. The bard raised an eyebrow.

“Look all you like, it’s all yours now,” he drawled, straightening. “And you better dress it well, too. You owe me an entire costume for the one you ripped off me and covered in gunk back there.”

“I don’t live in the lap of luxury,” Geralt ground out. He seemed surprised at his own gawking, turning to wring water from his hair. “Roach and I get by.”

“You bit it, you bought it.”

“Does that make you my property?”

Jaskier puffed up at the condescension. He generally enjoyed their bickering, but he felt raw from their bonding. Instinct wanted him to curl up in a nest of blankets they didn’t have, with cuddling he was not going to get. Instead, he was warring with his pigheaded Alpha, and he’d lost his best tunic. 

Geralt was saved by the serving girl, who did indeed offer him a fresh bucket of water. He mopped himself up with a hard look, avoiding Jaskier. 

He could not avoid him forever, though. They had only paid for the one bed. Jaskier, petty as he was feeling, settled himself into it before Geralt had finished drying off. He hoarded the blankets, curling into them. 

He’d just started to get comfortable when the bed creaked, and then groaned. With an ominous scraping noise, Jaskier found himself and the bed both shoved towards the wall, until the frame was flush against it. 

Jaskier scrambled up, staring wide-eyed at Geralt. The Witcher cleared his throat and gestured unnecessarily.

“Omegas make nests, don’t they?”

The bard opened his mouth, closed it again, and looked once more over his shoulder. With how the bed was now, there  _ was  _ a comfortable corner for him to nest in. Not that there was much to work with. He swallowed.

“Yes,” he said finally. “We do. When there’s something to make them out of. I suppose this will do.”

He set about gathering the meagre pillows and sheets into a semblance of a nest, unsure what to say to Geralt who just… stood there. Not getting into bed. Not doing anything but watching. Jaskier had never been watched like this before, doing  _ nothing at all _ , and it wasn’t unwelcome so much as very strange.

He finished the nest and sat back with a sigh, bringing a hand to his eyes to rub them. 

He’d only made it big enough for one.

He’d never built a couple’s nest before. There was certainly not enough here for  _ that _ .

“Get in,” Jaskier told him, looking up at Geralt. “Get  _ in _ so I can make it properly. With your size you’ll make a mess of anything I build unless I make it around you.”

Geralt, for once, moved with an ungainly stiffness. He settled himself onto the very edge of the bed, until Jaskier groaned and tugged him closer. 

“Come  _ here _ you great lump. My scent can’t be as unpleasant as all that.”

Geralt let himself be manhandled into the center of the bed, and then went very still so that Jaskier could build up the nest around him. When that was done, Jaskier settled in beside him, waiting for warm, protective weight to settle in over him. 

It didn’t come. When he opened his eyes, Geralt was staring at him with uncharacteristic reluctance. 

“Out with it,” Jaskier said. 

“I… did not mean to do this to you.”

It was not an apology, but it was close enough to one. Jaskier sighed and rolled onto his stomach, exposing his vulnerable back in a show of trust. 

“But you did,” Jaskier said, “and I let you. So just… get over here and do those Alpha things you want to do. I can see how much it’s bugging you. Leaving me all exposed.”

“I don’t know what Alpha things you want me to do -”

“Shut up,” Jaskier mumbled, nuzzling into the pillow, arching his back in a way that made Geralt’s breath catch a little. Good. He better appreciate the gift he’d gotten himself by bonding with Jaskier, stupid man.

It was hard to feel particularly smug, however, when Geralt draped himself heavy and hot over Jaskier’s back and held him down to sleep. Because that felt good. That felt really, really good.

Jaskier couldn’t remember falling asleep, but he knew that he was purring when he did.

* * *

Nothing much changed between them, now that they were mated. Jaskier still complained about not being able to ride Roach, Geralt still refused to admit that Jaskier’s sense of humor was delightful. They made camp and shared a tent. Geralt still refused to buy Jaskier the clothes he claimed he deserved.

And so it went.

Until they stopped in another inn, and Jaskier took matters into his own hands.

“No.”

“Charming,” Jaskier tuned his lute by ear and moved his fingers over the strings for a brisk warm up. “You’re entitled to your opinion.”

“You can’t play for them.”

“I’m a  _ bard, _ Geralt, that’s quite literally my  _ job _ .”

“But they’re going to look at you.”

“With any luck.”

Jaskier was hardly paying attention. His attention was on the latest ballad he’d written, on mentally calculating the cost of some decent nesting bedding for his upcoming heat. He strummed a chord, taking a step closer to the bar. 

A hand wrapped around his upper arm like an iron band. Geralt hauled him back roughly enough for Jaskier to make a startled squawking noise. 

“What on  _ earth-“ _

Jaskier stopped. Geralt’s eyes were red tinged and wild, and they darted from side to side as if an assassin was coming at any moment. He looked like a teenaged Alpha who hadn’t learned yet that possessive instincts should be tempered. 

Belatedly, Jaskier realized that was exactly the problem. 

“Geralt. No one here is going to hurt me. Or fuck me.”

Geralt growled threateningly. 

“Especially not that,” Jaskier continued. “If we are very lucky, they’ll give me enough coin for a new bedroll. You want me to be comfortable during my heat, don’t you? Think how scared I’ll be without a nest.”

“I don’t want them looking at you.”

“Tough,” Jaskier worked his arm free, wincing at how hard Geralt had grabbed him. He was like a dog who had never learned bite inhibition as a puppy. He handled Jaskier like he handled the horse, or his weapons. It wasn’t exactly pleasant. “I’ve been doing it for decades and I’ll keep doing it. It’s what I’m good at.”

“No.”

“We need to eat, Geralt,” Jaskier shot back. “And pay for rooms to stay in. And Roach needs a new bridle, you said so yourself.”

“I’ll get it.”

“Oh, suddenly more beasties on the loose are there? We need something for the times between.”

“Not like this.”

“It’s not like I’m  _ turning tricks, _ Geralt, you’re overreacting.”

Another growl, lower this time, and aimed entirely at his Omega. Damn his instincts, too, because Jaskier reacted by immediately lifting his chin in supplication. Lord. This wasn’t a hurdle he had been anticipating. Setting a hand to Geralt’s neck, Jaskier stepped nearer, forced a purr to rumble from his chest, trying to soothe the man before him.

“There’s no one to protect me from here. We’re safe, alright?” the answering grunt didn’t give him much hope, and Jaskier sighed. “I already told the innkeeper I’d play, part of our room’s rent depends on it. I can’t just renege on a deal like that, people will talk. Just… sit there, I’ll stay by the table, and let me do what I do best.”

Geralt ground his teeth together. Jaskier could practically  _ see _ his sensible, gruff nature warring with his newfound need to take Jaskier by the nape and drag him back to their nest. Most Alphas went through this phase, but they were typically fifteen when they did it, not fully grown men with a man’s hormones and strength. 

“You’ll stay  _ here _ ,” Geralt finally growled. “Within arm’s reach. Nobody touches you.”

Jaskier didn’t bother to point out that no one ever touched him anyway. Nor did he point out that he made more money if he  _ moved _ ; he would simply push slowly at that boundary until Geralt relaxed a bit. 

“Alright,” he said, in his most soothing voice, appealing to Geralt’s grumbly, pouty Alpha side. “Of course, Alpha. I’ll be right where you can see me. Keep me safe.”

Geralt struggled with himself for a moment. “Shut up,” he finally said, dropping heavily into his seat. 

Jaskier dropped a kiss to his cheek and pretended he didn’t see the flicker of a smile that threatened to quirk Geralt’s lips. He turned back to the rest of the inn. 

There weren’t many people in just yet, but that wasn’t uncommon. Jaskier was known to draw crowds with his music and he was confident that here he’d have similar luck. If Geralt could just  _ let him _ .

“Any requests, my fine fellow travelers?” he called out, plucking a tune of a common folk song out with his fingers over the strings so it didn’t carry. “Ballads? Dirty limericks?”

“Love songs!” Someone yelled, and a few people laughed. Jaskier grinned, glancing over his shoulder as he did.

“I suppose I could summon up some romantic feelings for you, good sir.”

He started with something simple, a song he’d heard once and had rewritten since. Jaskier enjoyed the shifting power of music - he could adjust words on the go, tilt his rhymes, include names of places and cities and local heroes to make his audience feel seen and understood regardless of where they were.

True to his word, he kept near the table for the first song, moving around it rather than away, singing at Geralt until the other snorted and ducked his chin against his chest, amusement warring with displeasure on his features.

A couple more patrons called suggestions to him when the song finished up and Jaskier didn’t even stop his playing, just adjusted the tune, and carried on. A ballad this time, his new ballad. And this required a bit more distance between himself and his  _ paramor. _ Jaskier just hoped that being in Geralt’s line of sight would be enough. There was no one here to do them harm, they were so far away from any overseeing kingdoms that they weren’t even in danger of running into an errant soldier or deserter.

Safe as they possibly could be in a world where Geralt killed monsters for a living and Jaskier wrote songs about it.

He hopped up on a nearby table, leaning back against a man who laughed and held his weight before pushing him gently away, curled his legs beneath him and stood, singing to the entire room, voice reaching every corner. When he looked over to Geralt, the man was digging his hands into the table so hard he was gauging lines into it.

Bollocks.

It would have to wait. Geralt could keep himself steady for another two or three minutes, surely. It was too late to turn back now, and besides, coin was already coming their way. 

Geralt made it perhaps forty seven seconds. 

He made it right up to the point where Jaskier leaned towards some gentleman and winked, right up to the point where someone held up a hand to touch Jaskier’s elbow and help him down from the table. 

Instead of stepping down, Jaskier was hauled back, lifted bodily from the table. His feet never hit the ground; somehow, Geralt managed to turn him and get him over his shoulder. Jaskier squirmed, swatting at his back. 

“Geralt! I’m in the middle of something!”

“I’ll give the innkeeper more coin.”

“That’s  _ hardly _ the point-“

Jaskier heard the snap of teeth as Geralt snarled at someone, some poor soul who’d come to protect Jaskier from ostensibly being kidnapped. The lad backed off, as did everyone else. No one messed with an angry Alpha in the midst of disciplining their Omega, let alone a terrifying Witcher. 

“Put me down!”

Geralt carted him off towards their room instead. 

Jaskier at least managed to set his lute aside, leaning precariously against a side table, before Geralt tossed him to their bed-nest and climbed in after him.

“Stupid, incorrigible  _ brute,” _ Jaskier told him, slapping his hands hard against Geralt’s chest as the other held himself over him. “What? What could have  _ possibly _ brought that on?”

“He touched you.”

“What?” Jaskier tucked his knees up against his belly, keeping Geralt off him with his legs at least a moment longer. “So what? He was going to help me down from the bloody table before  _ you _ decided I needed to be carried. What are you  _ doing?” _

Geralt was tugging at his jacket, motions harsh enough that if he wasn’t careful he’d rip yet another of Jaskier’s things.

“You smell wrong.” Was all Geralt said. Jaskier snorted, the sound far from amused, and kicked out to wriggle out from under the Alpha.

“Buy me the clothes I ask for then,” he shot back. “Before you tear these ones too and I’ll have nothing left to change into after you feel  _ possessive.” _

He held Geralt off with a glare and yanked his jacket off, tossing it aside with a displeased groan. When Geralt crawled over him to press him to the bed this time Jaskier let him.

“I can’t take you anywhere,” he muttered, bringing a hand up to stroke through Geralt’s hair. “You’re a handsome bastard but you have no people skills whatsoever. Besides, now you’ll have to  _ pay _ for the room and we’re already low on funds.”

“I’ll work it out.”

“You don’t  _ have to, _ don’t you see? Bullheaded man.” Jaskier sighed, wrapping his other arm around Geralt too, holding him close as the Alpha nuzzled under Jaskier’s chin, scenting him again. It would be more endearing if it wasn’t so obnoxious.

Well... he supposed they needn’t cancel each other out.

“You’re the worst thing that ever happened to me,” Geralt complained, biting a fresh bruise above Jaskier’s claiming scar. Jaskier bristled, shoving at him. 

He took it back. There was nothing endearing about Geralt, nothing at all. 

“You’re no prize yourself-“

Geralt sealed a hand over Jaskier’s mouth, silencing him and pinning him in place. “I could go where I wanted,” he growled, “I could move as freely as I needed to. Now look at me.”

Jaskier scowled and licked his palm. It did nothing to budge Geralt’s hand. 

“I can’t go three feet from you,” Geralt continued, “not without everything in me screaming. You’re so frail and breakable.”

“I am  _ not,”  _ Jaskier attempted to insist, but it came out as nothing more than a high, irritated whine.

“And if anything happened to you, I wouldn’t be able to forgive myself. Do you have any idea how frightening that is?”

Jaskier blinked at him, brows furrowed, still caught between being offended and really listening to what Geralt was trying to tell him. In his brusque, tactless way. He stopped squirming beneath him and sighed, relaxing back into the bed.

“I’ve never felt vulnerable,” Geralt continued, tone gruff and low but concern cracking through his mask of indifference for a change. Jaskier had never seen him like this before, even when he’d seemed genuinely upset by the outcome of a battle, or the death of an innocent bystander. “You make me vulnerable. And I don’t… I have no idea what to do with that. I can’t beat it down, I can’t strangle it into submission. Any time someone goes near you, touches you… I just want to tear them apart.”

Geralt drew in a few quick shallow breaths and ducked his head to breathe Jaskier in again until he settled. Jaskier let his hands reach to stroke through Geralt’s hair again, allowed his own anger to be shelved for the moment and a purr to rise up from his chest, quiet and warm, soothing his Alpha. When he reached for Geralt’s hand again, he allowed it to be moved.

“Well we can’t have that,” he said softly, hushing Geralt when he growled against him. “You’d be far too exhausted if you killed every single Alpha who looked my way. You have a job to do. What sort of Witcher would you be if you’ve overworked yourself defending your  _ mated _ Omega from sultry glances, huh?”

A sound that could have been close cousins with a laugh escaped Geralt’s throat next and Jaskier shifted, turning them so they lay side by side.

“Look, I don’t know how it feels. I had to learn to control my own stupid instincts when I presented. But… you have to trust me. Like you did before all this. Trust that I’m not going to hurt  _ you _ either, and that I’m not out prowling for Alphas when I’m trying to make rent.”

“I trust you,” Geralt said, his eyes widening in surprise at his own words. He had that vague haze of discomfort he always got when he said anything remotely nice to Jaskier. 

“You just don’t trust anyone  _ else,”  _ Jaskier concluded. “Yes, yes, we’ve all heard the possessive Alpha cliche. But I  _ want _ things, Geralt. Things that we cannot provide me if we are waiting for a monster to cause trouble first.”

Geralt grumbled, clearly displeased to be told he couldn’t provide for his Omega. Jaskier tilted his head, purposefully further exposing his throat. 

“My heat is coming.”

As expected, Geralt tucked his nose under Jaskier’s chin and drew in a deep breath. 

“Smell that?” Jaskier said softly. “I need a nest. A  _ good  _ nest.”

“I’ll build you one.”

“You can find us a safe place to stay,” Jaskier told him, “and get me what I need to build us a nest, and  _ stay with me _ throughout my heat. But we need money for that, Geralt. That’s just the reality of it.”

Geralt growled softly and nuzzled against his mate a little harder. He didn’t want to let Jaskier out of his sight, he didn’t want anyone to look at him, to touch him, to even go near -

“You’ll have to let me,” Jaskier mumbled sleepily, as though reading his mind. “You’ll have to let me work. Or learn to play the fucking lute.”

Geralt snorted, wrapping himself around Jaskier and holding him close. He said nothing on the matter. Both knew he’d break the instrument before he learned to play a note on it.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"And you," Geralt purred, nuzzling just behind Jaskier's ear. "Are disobedient, bratty, naughty."_
> 
> _"I am not!" Jaskier squeaked, wriggling back against Geralt, seeking out his warmth and weight. He didn't want to fuck, not really, not yet anyway. But this? This he could do._
> 
> _"Naughty things get spanked," Geralt concluded. Jaskier cursed._
> 
> _"You're_ not _spanking me, I'm in a delicate disposition." Geralt snorted and Jaskier found himself smiling too. "You dragged me back, like some neanderthal, so just… lay on me if you must."_
> 
> _"If I must."_
> 
> Heat heat heat **heat _heat_**

Geralt managed to allow Jaskier to sing for his supper for about an hour and a half the next night, though he did it with a look of extreme distaste marring his chiseled features. Thankfully, the crowd didn’t seem to notice that Geralt bared his sharp teeth at any Alpha or Beta that stared a little too boldly at Jaskier. They tipped just as well as they always did. 

Afterwards, Geralt tumbled Jaskier into their rented bed and fucked him like he was already in heat, until Jaskier was dazed and out of breath. Rather than knot him, he pulled out and pinned Jaskier to the bed, coating him in seed and massaging it into his skin. It was simultaneously disgusting and the most arousing experience of Jaskier’s life. 

They didn’t quite have enough coin for  _ everything  _ Jaskier needed, but they left town with some new bedding, at least. To Jaskier’s surprise, Geralt had scrounged up some decent blankets on his own. 

“We need enough for you to nest without the comforts of an inn,” Geralt explained. 

“Surely we can reach the next town before the worst of it hits?” When Jaskier turned to Geralt, he was looking steadfastly away, fiddling with the pack he’d already secured to Roach. 

Of course. Geralt would rather pitch a tent than have Jaskier in a village for his heat, where other Alphas might smell or hear him. 

Jaskier would absolutely rather  _ not. _

“In a tent, Geralt? Really? Open to the world, and anyone in it to see?”

“No one will see.”

“You sound so certain,” Jaskier muttered, sulking as Geralt continued to load up the horse. He was back to his chipper self within a few miles, however, teasing his Alpha until he was gritting his teeth and threatening to kick Roach into a trot that Jaskier wouldn’t be able to keep up with.

They stopped for camp in a clearing, and Geralt immediately started pitching the tent, securing it with stronger knots than a single night warranted. When Jaskier returned with the water skins he’d filled from the stream he sighed.

“No.”

“What?”

“No, we’re not spending the heat here, Geralt, it’s filthy.”

“It’s no more or less filthy than the last place we camped.”

“I’m going into  _ heat _ Geralt, I’m not just a - you know what? Never mind.”

“You’ll tell me anyway,” Geralt grumbled, raising an eyebrow as he fastened the waxed canvas over their tent, in case of a nighttime rain. “You always do.”

“This time, I shan’t.”

“You? Keeping your mouth shut for a change?” Geralt teased, a smirk tilting his lips. “Has hell frozen over?”

Jaskier was in no mood for banter. He was still a day or so away, but the cravings were strong and irritability had begun to creep up his spine. He kicked at one of the tent posts, frustrated when it didn’t budge. Geralt was much too good at this. 

“Jaskier.”

Geralt was not a particularly sweet or affectionate man, but he was beginning to learn Jaskier’s soft spots. He rested a hand on his shoulder, leaning in to nuzzle at Jaskier’s throat. Jaskier shrugged him off. 

“I’m not a  _ whore _ to be bedded where you please,” he growled, circling the tent to put distance between himself and Geralt. “I won’t paint my face with pleasure for your benefit. I want  _ walls _ for my heat, Geralt, and a door with a lock.”

“We’ve bedded down in the woods before. We mated in the woods.”

“Not by choice!” Jaskier reminded him. 

“We’re safer in the woods,” Geralt tried. He wasn’t any good at soothing, and it showed on his alarmed features. 

“Maybe  _ you _ are,” Jaskier grumbled. “ _ I  _ feel safer in a bed.”

“Jaskier -”

“Never mind. You won’t listen anyway just…” he shrugged, grumpy and helpless. “I’m going for a walk.”

“No.”

“What?”

“You can’t.”

“I can’t  _ walk _ now?” Jaskier’s voice was pitching in a way he absolutely hated. He didn’t want to be the stereotype of his dynamic, he didn’t want to be the whiny needy Omega; he never had been before.

“I just want you safe.”

“We are safe!” Jaskier yelled. “There is  _ nothing _ here, Geralt, nothing! Just dirt and trees and a creek. No comforts, no fireplace, no bath, no bed.” He was slowly becoming furious, rather than annoyed, and he could see the way his Alpha was responding. Geralt may not have been a particularly tactile  _ man _ but he was a very involved Alpha.

“Don’t touch me right now,” he mumbled. “Just… put up the bloody tent. I won’t  _ go _ anywhere. Just down to the creek to wash my face.”

Geralt allowed it with a huff of breath, but kept his ear out for the sounds of shuffling through the forest and underbrush. There were small creatures everywhere, things that lived in the forest and cared little for Jaskier and himself in their domain. It was when he stopped listening to  _ them _ that he realized Jaskier wasn’t by the creek.

Geralt felt a sudden surge of emotion, rage and concern intermingled and unstoppable. 

He hated his new instincts. Jaskier was not an object to be possessed, and Geralt had too much work to do to care for anyone else, and yet Geralt’s entire life had suddenly become centered squarely on Jaskier and his safety. 

And Jaskier, much as Geralt had to admit some fondness for him, was both an idiot and a danger magnet. 

It took Geralt several long moments to find him, tracing the fleeting remnants of warm, sweet scent through clumps of bushes and well past the creek. Geralt was going to tether the man to his horse, when he found him. Bundle him up in blankets and rope until he was safe, and, more importantly,  _ still.  _

Jaskier had not wandered off on purpose. Or rather, he had, but not with the purposeful intent of panicking Geralt or setting off Alpha possessiveness. He’d just been so  _ irritated  _ with Geralt. It had seemed like a brilliant idea to get some space, to traipse off into the woods for air and berries. 

It was a  _ great _ idea, right up until fingers tangled in his hair and hauled him back against a firm chest. 

"Shit!"

"What did I say?" Geralt growled against him, and Jaskier wriggled unhappily in his grip.

"Not to walk. And I did anyway. Did you  _ really _ expect me not to?"

The next sound was similar to that low rumble of menace Jaskier had heard from Geralt when he'd been up the tree and the Witcher wanted him down from it. Dangerous and primal and tempting, so tempting.

He'd gone to the creek like he'd said, cooling off the heat of his skin with the water. Another night, maybe two, and he'd be mindless for his heat. And he didn't want to spend it on the cold hard ground goddammit, he wanted a lavish room with wool and velvet and silk, a huge nest with pillows, a  _ door _ …

"I've built camp," Geralt told him, voice just loud enough above the rumble to be heard. "I've made it safe for you. Inside, I've built you a warm and padded nest. And you,  _ disobedient _ thing, ran away from me."

"I didn't run -"

Geralt's teeth set to the nape of Jaskier's neck and he went limp. God it felt good. And the possessiveness was nice. And he smelled so delicious it made Jaskier dizzy.

“Terrible,” Geralt grumbled against his neck. He’d gotten distracted by the scent, by the way teeth against his pressure points could make Jaskier all soft in his arms. “Cruel thing, why do you do this to me?”

“ _ Cruel?”  _ Jaskier sputtered, but Geralt’s teeth nipped at his nape again, and he was lost. 

Geralt hoisted him like a bride, hands under his shoulders and knees. Jaskier felt unbearably hot, trapped by his clothes. It was much too early in his preheat for him to be prancing about naked, and yet he suddenly felt chafed by the soft fabrics. 

“You can’t just boss me around, Geralt,” he lectured, clinging tightly as he was carried. “I don’t  _ belong  _ to you. Only the  _ nobility _ still treat Omegas like decorations, the rest of us have much too much to do to worry about nonsense-“

He was still prattling on when Geralt dumped him into the tent, right into the middle of the crooked nest he’d made. Immediately, Jaskier went silent, twisting to seek out the edges and squirm against them. He pressed himself up against the far end of the tent, all wide eyed Omega instinct until his brain caught up with him. 

“Geralt-“

“Disobedient,” Geralt growled again, draping himself over Jaskier’s slighter form. “Do they still spank Omegas, or is it only the nobility holding to such traditions?”

“ _ Barbaric _ ,” Jaskier insisted, though all of his skin had come alight at the thought. 

"You often call me that." Geralt reminded him, and Jaskier whined. No. He didn't need this right now, he was  _ angry _ . And he had to be stoic about it so Geralt didn't get it into his head that he could pull this kind of shit with him.

"And brutish," Jaskier muttered. "Fiendish. Crass. Domineering." Oh, God, it wasn't helping. He curled up even smaller and Geralt pressed heavier against him. Jaskier's eyes fluttered closed. He felt so goddamn safe it wasn't even fair.

"And you," Geralt purred, nuzzling just behind Jaskier's ear. "Are disobedient, bratty, naughty."

"I am not!" Jaskier squeaked, wriggling back against Geralt, seeking out his warmth and weight. He didn't want to fuck, not really, not  _ yet _ anyway. But this? This he could do.

"Naughty things get spanked," Geralt concluded. Jaskier cursed.

"You're  _ not _ spanking me, I'm in a delicate disposition." Geralt snorted and Jaskier found himself smiling too. "You dragged me back, like some neanderthal, so just… lay on me if you must."

"If I must."

Geralt shifted until he covered all of Jaskier, until there was not a single piece of him exposed from the safety of their nest. It was a difficult task; there was, perhaps, some validity in Jaskier’s insistence on more nesting materials. 

Jaskier was a fussy thing, even outside of heat, but he was surprisingly easy to soothe when it was building. All he wanted was a warm nest and lungfuls of his Alpha’s scent, and Geralt could provide both, easily. Together, they drifted off in the quiet twilight. 

Geralt woke to a stifling tent, the hot air saturated with the thickest, sweetest musk he’d ever scented. Beneath him, Jaskier was whimpering in his sleep, twisting beneath Geralt, his skin coated in a fine sheen of sweat. 

Heat had taken him early, perhaps spurred on by stress, or maybe even by safety, his body knowing he was safe between his Alpha and the bedding. 

Jaskier whined, the sound pained. Agonized, even. It cut right through Geralt. 

“Shh,” he coaxed, easing Jaskier onto his stomach. “Hush, Omega. I have you.”

Jaskier shuddered, eyes opening, gaze sleepy and golden when he looked up. He whined again, squirming about, tugging at his clothes. He had pink warm circles in the apples of his cheeks and he looked so much younger than he did when he wasn’t a slave to his heat. He was goddamn radiant.

“Too hot,” he complained, struggling to get out of his clothes, sighing in contentment when Geralt reached out to help. There was still some coherence in him, though that would be gone as soon as he felt Geralt touch him skin to skin. He’d already soaked through his trousers with slick in his sleep. “You smell so good,” he added with a groan when he managed to peel his jacket and shirt free.

He wriggled out of his pants, turning to paw at Geralt next, eyes wide and bright, reflecting gold when he looked at the Witcher. For Geralt, the gaze touched something deep within him he couldn’t explain. Yes, this was his mate, slick and needy for him, but the gold in his eyes, so much like the Witcher gold, made it feel more intimate.

This wasn’t supposed to happen, yet here they were.

“Off,” Jaskier huffed, fisting the fabric of Geralt’s shirt in sweaty hands. “Get this off, I want you in me.”

Jaskier had never been  _ reluctant _ when they fucked, but this was the first time he so blatantly asked for it, and Geralt felt his heart skip a beat at the thought as he yanked his shirt over his head and pushed his pants down enough to free his cock. The way Jaskier groaned seeing it pulled a similar sound from the Alpha.

“Present,” Geralt growled, but it had hardly left his lips before Jaskier was throwing himself down, his chest separated from the rocky ground only by the thin bedroll. He whined and kicked out, struggling to bring his knees beneath him. 

For the first time, Geralt saw the inadequacy of their nest. He felt the stiffness beneath his knees as he tugged Jaskier into position, and caught the fussy, unhappy noise as Jaskier hauled an armful of bedding closer. 

But they were safe here, alone and far from others who would sniff out Jaskier and come crawling, who might seek to taste what wasn’t theirs, what was bafflingly Geralt’s to claim. 

Jaskier’s back arched as Geralt rubbed the head of his cock against his slick hole. His noises were unceasing, whines and grunts of need that spurred on the fire growing in Geralt’s own belly. 

“Pretty Omega.” Words were difficult for Geralt. He’d never learned what to say, how to say it. How to coax a pretty face with flattery instead of coin. 

But for Jaskier, he wanted to be better, especially when he was so very responsive to such words, squirming and spreading his thighs wider. 

"My beautiful boy," he added, teasing just a moment more before his cock caught the slick rim and he pressed in.

They had only fucked twice, their mating included, yet this felt as though it was their first time. Jaskier was so slick for him, so hot, he whined and deepened the arch in his back to coax Geralt further into him, and Geralt couldn't have denied him even if he'd wanted to.

He'd considered being more gentle, allowing Jaskier to take what he needed from him - after all, it was  _ his _ heat, Geralt was just there for it, as other Alphas had been before him - but that thought went out the window the first time Jaskier whimpered beneath him.

Geralt draped himself over the Omega's back, purring against him, nosing behind his ear as Jaskier panted and shoved back against him, glorious in his neediness.

"Greedy thing," Geralt told him, "look at you."

Jaskier shuddered and came, hard and untouched, between his legs at the words, and Geralt leaned farther in, pushed himself in deeper still, and teased his teeth against the bond mark.

"I am never letting you go."

“Nnn…” Jaskier jerked beneath him, rocking helplessly in the small space he had between Geralt and the ground. He was already sensitive, and shaking. There were hours still to go. Days. And all Jaskier could think about was the sturdy shape behind him, filling him, stretching him wide. 

Geralt would always be there. Forever. As long as they both lived, entwined together, and Jaskier  _ ached.  _

“Knot,” he begged, shoving back against Geralt’s hips. “Knot, in,  _ in _ .”

“I have you.”

Geralt pinned him with teeth in his nape, holding Jaskier frozen and still as his knot began to swell, shoving against Jaskier’s red and stretched hole. 

“Yesss,” Jaskier hissed, clawing at the bedding. “Please, Alpha.”

A growl, low and pleased, was all the warning Jaskier got before Geralt’s knot slipped into him and his Alpha filled him up. This was a world away from the first time he’d felt it, when he’d been shoved into blood and muck and damn near forced to take it. Now it felt euphoric, like the world made sense again, like everything was as it should have been.

He moaned, bucking his hips a little, trying to work Geralt deeper into him as his own cock leaked copiously between his legs with another orgasm.

Jaskier was hazy, floating, warm. He could feel every pebble and stone beneath his chest through the thin bedroll and blankets but he didn’t care, because behind him his Alpha was purring and nuzzling him, arms wide and secure around his middle as he held Jaskier up and against him.

“Fuck, it’s never felt like that before,” Jaskier mumbled, half awake and grinning like a fool. It had never felt bad, really, having a surrogate Alpha in his bed during heats, but afterward he always felt filthy, always took at least a day to entirely clean himself out and get their foreign smell off him.

Now he wanted to wallow in it, to have Geralt in him, on him, around him, always.

“Gon’ break my knees on this ground though,” he added, to the amusement of Geralt behind him who gave him a brief swat against a trembling thigh.

“Then I’ll have you ride a while,” he replied.

Jaskier’s eyes rolled, a moan slipping from his lips at the very thought. He wanted it, Geralt in every way, every position. He was hungry again already. 

Geralt nuzzled up behind his ear, sighing. “Next time, more,” he promised. “More soft bedding for you. As much as you need.”

“Roach can’t carry all the things I want,” Jaskier muttered, shifting restlessly. 

“Leave that to me.”

Jaskier laughed, shaking his head. “And what will you do against a monster with your arms full of pillows? Smother them to death?” 

Geralt brought a hand up to caress Jaskier’s throat, holding him close. “Mouthy. I should smother  _ you _ with the pillows.”

Jaskier groaned in pleasure, a smile stretching wide over his lips as he relaxed into Geralt’s caresses and touches. He had a few moments more of coherence, contemplating Geralt actually buying up a tentful of soft trappings just because Jaskier told him to. It amused and warmed him at the same time. He knew he was hardly an easy Omega to keep, it was one of the reasons he hadn’t pouted about still being unmated at his age.

Then he felt Geralt’s knot go down, felt his cock ease out of him before thrusting almost cruelly back in, and he forgot how to make words in his head, let alone have them come out of his mouth.

Heats were usually a very literal mess for Jaskier; nature took over and he was helpless to it. Slick and sweat and spit and semen, over him, over the nest, over the Alpha giving him a thorough dicking over. Now, that mess was intoxicating; their smells mingled together and felt like a goddamn drug as Jaskier was pushed through another orgasm, another, and knotted again, face down in the sheets and shaking with need.

He’d never felt this full before either. Maybe Witchers had magic goddamn sperm that expanded within him. His belly already felt distended when he rolled over and stretched, eyes half open and hazy as he gazed up at Geralt. His Alpha stretched his broad form, somehow  _ not _ breaking the tent in the process, before falling upon him again.

Geralt remembered to feed Jaskier because he himself was  _ famished _ from their fucking. He didn’t need to feed Roach because that horse could look after herself better than either of them could, combined, though he did check on her, and did leave the tent  _ once _ to get more water from the creek.

“You know,” Jaskier told him lazily, body rocking back where Geralt had knotted him for the upteenth time. He was straddling him, his own cock already red and hard again, ready for more release and relief. They both ignored it. “Some Alphas carry a bond bite too, where their Omega marks them as their own.”

There were other Alphas who would have flinched away, who would have taken it as an insult. Geralt took all his education from Jaskier, however. He had the possessive instinct, but none of the boisterous bravado other Alphas taught each other. When Jaskier suggested it, he merely tilted his head, exposing his own throat. 

“Keep it shallow,” was his only warning. “We can thicken the scar later, if need be. I need to be able to fight without the weariness of blood loss, should we be interrupted.”

Jaskier had been readying himself for a fight. He stilled in Geralt’s lap, even with his body screaming to be fucked. He became a statue, staring down while Geralt’s brow furrowed and the corner of his lips ticked down. 

“Jaskier?”

Jaskier flung himself forward, arms around Geralt’s shoulders. He fitted his teeth to the curve of Geralt’s throat, biting down as his hips frantically chased another climax. 

Of course Geralt allowed it. What  _ didn't _ he allow his bard, his mate, his Omega? A scar among many scars that he would wear just as proudly as any of his others wasn't a sacrifice of pride or position. It was proof that he had a mate fiery enough to show his teeth.

And Jaskier was certainly that.

When the knot slipped into Jaskier once more, and he was again filled so entirely by his Alpha, Jaskier lay against his chest panting and nuzzling. It was coming to an end, this hormonal madness, and despite Geralt's demands that they stay well clear of civilization for a while Jaskier was determined to have a proper bath and nest to recover in.

His knees had memorized the stones beneath Geralt's back already.

He felt his Alpha's purr against his chest and smiled, sighing out long and warm over sweaty skin.

"You bring out the worst in me, you know that right?" Jaskier told him affectionately. "I'm spilling blood now."

“In the old legends, Omegas were vicious and territorial creatures.”

“What do the old legends say about large copper tubs?”

Geralt raised an eyebrow, rubbing gentle hands down Jaskier’s flanks. “That they don’t fit well on horseback.”

Jaskier hummed, pretending to think about it. “You know what would wash away the scent particularly quickly?”

Geralt’s hands tightened on Jaskier’s hips, and he rocked up into him, working a soft moan from his lips. “I like you smelling of me.”

Well,  _ that _ sent a pleased little ripple down Jaskier’s spine. It was almost enough to tip him into another round. Almost. 

“Geralt. If the heat is over, then no one will want me. I’ll smell  _ entirely _ of you, of  _ yours _ . Mated. And besides, we need to buy some lye and scrub out these blankets.”

Geralt rumbled something against Jaskier the bard didn’t catch and just held him close for a while. Jaskier let himself be held. They could wash the blankets in a day or so, it really didn’t matter that much.

By dusk, the heat was well and truly over. Smells that had brought Jaskier to absolute ecstasy not hours before felt overwhelming now, and he tied the tent flaps open to air it as much as possible while Geralt ventured out to the creek to get more water.

Jaskier had almost resigned himself to an uncomfortable and sticky night when Geralt returned, dripping with water and clean, and set about building a fire. It wasn’t particularly cold, they had no  _ need _ for it, but Jaskier said nothing, he just watched. Once it was roaring, high and bright, Geralt filled their largest pot with water and set it to boil.

“Is there an anniversary I’ve forgotten?” Jaskier asked blithely. Geralt just sent him a look over his shoulder.

“My Omega demands a bath,” was all he said. Whatever Jaskier had wanted to shoot back as a clever reply died on his tongue.

“What?”

“I find no discomfort in bathing in running water,” Geralt pointed out. “You, however, claim to feel the difference between cotton and linen against your skin. I can’t dump you into the creek and expect it to go over well.”

“There is a  _ vast _ difference between cotton and linen,” Jaskier insisted, but it was automatic, instinctive. His mind wasn’t settled in the argument. Instead, all of his focus was on Geralt and the pot of water. 

It would normally have been a waste of time, a waste of precious energy, and yet here Geralt was, practically  _ coddling  _ him. 

When the water began to simmer, Geralt removed the pot from the fire and tugged Jaskier free of the tent opening. He dragged Jaskier into his lap, and Jaskier let out a soft moan as the wet,  _ hot _ cloth dragged over his shoulder. 

Geralt bathed him by hand, rinsing him with handfuls of hot water and massaging the aches in his back and his knees. All things considered, he was a far better Alpha than Jaskier had ever  _ hoped _ to get. 

“For someone who so detests social relationships, you’re very good at them,” Jaskier murmured sleepily into Geralt’s shoulder. 

Geralt worked knots free of Jaskier’s hair with careful fingers. “Witchers take care of our own,” he said. 

  
  



	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Jaskier scoffed. “Of course. Why should you remember? You just plant the seed, you’re never around for the rest of it.”_
> 
> _“There’s never been a rest of it, Jaskier.”_
> 
> _“Well there is now!”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp.

To give Geralt his due credit, he found them a very cozy inn to spend the night after Jaskier’s heat ended. They shared a tub, soaking in the hot water and saying nothing at all, just hands slipping over skin and through strands of hair, memorizing, teasing, soothing. Neither could deny that they were feeling much more affectionate towards one another after their first heat together so neither bothered.

Geralt shoved their bed up against a wall and tossed all of their blankets in alongside those provided for Jaskier to build a nest he would be comfortable in. By the time he returned with dinner, Jaskier had built quite the lavish thing.

“I would have preferred a larger selection of textures,” he shrugged, laughing when Geralt showed his teeth but offered no growl. He took the plate Geralt offered and curled his legs beneath him as he waited for Geralt to join him in their nest, then he gave the plate back and made himself comfortable with his head in the Alpha’s lap.

Geralt grunted.

“You think I’m going to feed you?”

“I want you to do a lot of things,” Jaskier shrugged, amused, and opened his mouth expectantly. With a sigh much deeper than it needed to be, Geralt tugged a piece of bread from the larger chunk and fed it to him. “And you can stop pretending like it’s a chore for you. We both know you like it.”

“Do I?”

Jaskier reached up and tucked a lock of hair behind Geralt’s ear, twisting his wrist so that his pulse passed just before Geralt’s nose. Geralt sucked in a deep breath, almost unwillingly. 

“You do,” Jaskier decided, dropping his hands back to his stomach. 

Geralt fed them both in small chunks, glancing uneasily about the room. “We can’t always stay in an inn.”

Jaskier chose not to point out that Geralt’s shoulders had finally relaxed the second they were alone in a room, a lock between them and the rest of the world. “Perhaps a house?” He suggested. Geralt snorted. “Do Witchers ever retire?”

“How long does a Witcher live?” Geralt shot back. 

Until they died. Jaskier sighed. “Alright, then. A nomadic life for me.”

After a moment, Geralt cupped a hand over his throat, palm to Jaskier’s bond bite. “It… it can’t be all that bad.”

“It isn’t,” Jaskier said quietly. 

When their dinner was finished, Jaskier stretched, a delicious groan to go with the movement, and nuzzled up against Geralt's stomach.

"I'll need to see the apothecary tomorrow," he mumbled. "Being a nomad isn't the most favourable option for raising pups."

"You won't -" Geralt hummed quietly, stroking Jaskier's hair. "I can't sire pups," he rephrased quietly. He almost sounded sad about it. Jaskier shrugged, giving no other indication beyond that that he'd heard. It wasn't as though he were desperate to father any himself. But a heat was a heat and one with a true mate?

He didn't remember falling asleep, but he woke surrounded by Geralt's familiar and welcome warmth. For a long time Jaskier didn't move, didn't indicate at all that he had woken, and when Geralt turned his head and nuzzled up against his throat, a purr deep and low in his chest, he smiled and arched back.

He was still a bit raw from his heat, but the way Geralt made love to him that morning put that entirely out of his head. It put a lot of things out of Jaskier's head.

The first time he was sick in the forest, he put it down to eating a less than fresh meal. The second time, to an ailment that anyone could pick up while traveling. The third, he rinsed his mouth after and kicked Geralt hard in the shin where he dozed against a log.

"What?"

"Can't sire pups?" Jaskier hissed. "Just like you have no true mate? Unbelievable."

Geralt blinked up at him, slow and sleepy. It was a testament to how comfortable they were together that he wasn’t leaping to his feet to fight an unseen enemy. 

“Have you been nipping at berries again?”

Jaskier growled and kicked him again. “ _ Sterile _ , you said.  _ Completely impotent _ , those were your  _ exact words _ .”

“I am,” Geralt said, baffled. “We are. Witchers are incapable of producing virile seed.”

“No,” Jaskier said, “Witchers are incapable of  _ presenting.  _ But if they get forced past that block, say, by meeting their  _ true mate…?” _

Geralt stared at him. Big, stupid lummox. He was usually so smart, he usually clued in faster than this. 

“I’m  _ in a delicate way,  _ you ass.”

Geralt blinked. “You are not.”

Jaskier scoffed. “No, of course not, thank you for putting my mind at ease, with your words you’ve made it  _ not so.” _ Jaskier dragged his fingers through his hair with a groan and turned on the spot, unsure what else he could do or say, how else to relieve his frustration. Both were at fault here. Neither were. He should have taken the herbs like he always did, he shouldn’t have taken it as gospel that Witchers are infertile.

“How the fuck are we going to raise pups with this life?” Jaskier asked no one in particular. It was loud enough for Geralt to hear but not aimed at him. At himself, perhaps.

“We’re not,” Geralt tried again. Jaskier turned on him, teeth bared and a growl rising from his throat that was nowhere near as intimidating as the sounds Geralt could make, but enough to startle his Alpha into sitting up properly.

“And what do you suppose we  _ do with them, then?” _

“You can’t be -”

“How long has it been since my last heat, Geralt?” Jaskier asked him. “How long? Think carefully, you were the one coherent at the time.”

The Witcher blinked up at him, brows furrowed, something akin to panic roiling in his gut. Because this wasn’t meant to happen, none of this was, but  _ pups? _

At his silence, Jaskier scoffed again. “Of course. Why should you remember? You just plant the seed, you’re never around for the rest of it.”

“There’s never been a rest of it, Jaskier.”

“Well there is now!”

Geralt gaped at him. The words made no sense to him. They filtered in and out of his head and he could not get them to align with how he knew the world to be. 

“A Witcher cannot father children-"

“Well you  _ did- _ "

“Jaskier.” Geralt got to his feet, one hand hesitant in the crook of Jaskier’s elbow. He felt the urge to touch his stomach and rested a hand on his flank instead. “Jaskier, I cannot be a father.”

Jaskier scowled at him. His own hand came to curve over his belly, where he had not yet begun to swell. Soon life would boil inside him, stretching him, altering him for all time. 

Jaskier had always been quite neutral towards children, and hardly too put out when Geralt assured him he needn’t worry about it. Yet now the seed had taken root, and he did not like the regretful look in his Alpha’s eyes. 

“There are roots you could take,” Geralt suggested softly, “or others who are barren and would yearn for such a blessing.”

“Geralt,” Jaskier said, his voice strained. 

“Or…” Geralt paused, looking away. “I cannot offer you much in the way of support. But you earn good coin with your music. You could take the pup and build a life for yourself, in a village somewhere.”

Jaskier lashed out before he’d even realized he’d done it. The slap was far too loud in the clearing they’d camped in. And the second was even louder. The third came with nails, not breaking skin but leaving three pink lines over the Alpha’s face as Jaskier’s voice rose on a frustrated yell.

“Oh I could  _ build a life _ for myself, could I? While my  _ true mate _ abandons me?” he was breathing hard, teeth bared and entire body shaking. “Even putting aside the fact that there is  _ no one else on this earth  _ for either you or I, now, who would take on an Omega with a  _ pup _ , after he’d been abandoned?”

He shoved both hands against Geralt’s chest, hard, and Geralt stepped back. Jaskier was sure he was doing him a favor, making him feel like his pushing was having an impact when it wasn’t and it made him even more mad.

“No.  _ No. _ You and I are  _ mated now, _ Witcher, and that comes with responsibility. That responsibility is on us both, you can’t just run from it.”

“It’s dangerous.”

_ “Life is dangerous, _ Geralt! Just living life, in this shitstorm of a country, is  _ dangerous.” _

“What if you got hurt?” Geralt asked. “What if the pup -”

“I promise you that you will hurt me much more if you  _ deposit me _ somewhere and go off on your own,” Jaskier shot back. “And I can  _ guarantee _ that if you try to take our pup away from me,  _ you _ will be the one hurt, Geralt, you mark my words.”

“I would never  _ take  _ it from you,” Geralt said softly, “I only meant-“

“I know what you meant,” Jaskier growled. “I would not repeat it if I were you.”

“I will ruin it,” Geralt warned. His hand finally slipped over Jaskier’s navel, where soon there would be a stiffness that spoke of a ripening womb. “It will be hurt, or killed.”

“You’ve yet to get  _ me _ killed and I walk happily into danger.” 

“There are other ways to ruin a child.”

Jaskier looked at him, at the grim set of his face, the narrow concern of his eyes. “...you bloody idiot,” he finally said. “Like you wouldn’t raise it the same way you do everything else.”

Geralt tilted his head. “And how do I do everything else?”

“With a single minded focus, until it’s been done correctly.”

For a moment Geralt didn’t move, he didn’t know how to or where to. Then he brought a hand up to the marks on his face as though he’d just noticed they were there. Still no blood, but the gesture was crystal clear.

His mate would not let harm come to their pup, not even from his Alpha.

Geralt trusted Jaskier, it was himself he had trouble thinking kindly of.

“It will be hard,” he murmured. Jaskier just laughed, a humorless sound.

“Everything is hard. It just depends on whether your hardship is finding shelter or having a properly fitted crown. I’m not going anywhere, Geralt.”

The Witcher nodded, cupping Jaskier’s face with his free hand and pulling him into an embrace. “No,” he agreed. “No, you’re not, are you, stupid boy?”

* * *

Jaskier had been right, he did not have another heat when he was meant to, and his smell had changed. Geralt wasn’t sure when he’d started to notice, but more and more it had taken on a much sweeter hint. His body was changing to accommodate the one growing within him, and with this new addition came its new smell, apparently.

They continued to travel together, though now Geralt had purchased another horse to accompany them, loaded down with every possible thing needed to make a comfortable nest. They started to stockpile supplies, too, in case there came a dry spell and they had nothing to feed themselves with. While the two of them would have survived and merely grumbled about it, growing pups needed to be fed, they  _ demanded _ to be.

More and more, Geralt would leave Jaskier to build their nest while he built a fire, only to come in and find his Omega sprawled on his back, exhausted, belly curved up beneath his shirt.

“Perhaps an inn in the next town,” Geralt said on one such occasion, “just for one night.”

“We don’t have the coin for a night,” Jaskier pointed out, “and I’m no longer appealing to throw it at.”

Geralt disagreed. Though Jaskier’s clothes grew tighter and more ill-fitting, he had never before looked so beautiful. Something about him appealed to Geralt’s instincts, made him want to curl around him in the soft warmth of their nest. 

Jaskier’s instincts would want him to be more stationary as the final months reared their heads, and it would do neither of them any good if Geralt felt the same cravings. 

“We can spare the coin,” he said anyway, rubbing gently over the exposed strip of skin below the hem of his shirt. 

Jaskier snorted. “No we can’t. You reminded me so repeatedly all week.”

Geralt had. Because despite his claim that he could take care of them, his ‘work’ really wasn’t very consistent. On the one hand, thankfully, since the world needed less beasties in it, not more, but on the other, they were often without a place to sleep for the night but outdoors.

It didn’t matter until it started to snow.

“We could sell the horse,” Jaskier told him, wrapped up warm and snuggled up against Geralt one night. “Not Roach, obviously.”

“Who’ll carry the nest for you?”

“I can give it up.”

“No.”

“We need shelter, Geralt, at some point.” Jaskier sighed. “And food. And once the pups come -”

“Pups?”

“Mmm,” Jaskier told him. “Two of them. Sterile my ass.”

“How do you know?”

“Well,” Jaskier groaned a little, wriggling about until Geralt held him closer. “I carry them about day in and day out, and they  _ kick me _ fairly often, and I’m pretty certain that even Witchers don’t sire pups with four legs instead of two.”

“Two,” Geralt repeated, and his hand rubbed at the distended pouch of Jaskier’s belly. 

“Two,” Jaskier assured him. He grabbed Geralt’s wrist, guiding him to a small flutter of sensation just beside his belly button. “And both of them future Witchers, I’m sure-“

“No,” Geralt said firmly. Jaskier paused. 

“No?”

“I didn’t choose this life. It was given to me. My pups will carve their own paths. If that path travels alongside mine, so be it, but they will choose.”

Jaskier tilted his head back, grazing a kiss along Geralt’s jaw. “Alright. As you say. But Geralt, I won’t be able to ride for much longer. It’s already uncomfortable.”

"We'll find somewhere to stay," his Alpha promised. Jaskier didn't contradict him. What use was there in pining for a life he'd never have? A life of lavish fabrics and rich meals, a life of silver and gold and nightly inebriation? His mate was a wanderer, a Witcher, and thus Jaskier's place was at his side.

Besides, who knew? Maybe growing up on the road would be good for the kids? They'd certainly know how to survive once grown, even if they took paths much different to either of their fathers.

A thought for another time, Jaskier decided, as he slid into sleep.

* * *

It got to the point where he had to wear Geralt's shirts or go without clothing at all. His stomach was huge and hung heavy, and he no longer put up a pretence of being able to walk alongside Roach. He rode her without comment as Geralt strode next to him.

Sometimes they even managed to banter.

It was another room in another inn and the next morning Geralt would venture forth to vanquish… whatever it was. Something that, as always, plagued a town that only a Witcher could defeat. Jaskier tried not to think about it. He wanted Geralt not to think about it.

Thankfully for him, his Alpha was easily distracted by bared skin and a certain pitch of voice.

Jaskier bent to get something from his pack, Geralt's shirt loose and light against his skin, just barely grazing his thighs when he stood tall. When he straightened, his Alpha was behind him, nuzzling at Jaskier's hair, stroking his belly and teasing between his legs.

"Savage," Jaskier told him, amusement colouring his tone. He rested back against Geralt with a sigh. "I rival Roach for appearance and you still want sex."

“Your own appetite has grown,” Geralt said against his temple. “You forget, I can smell it on you.”

Jaskier hummed and tilted his head. Geralt’s hands covered his belly, rounding and heavy, the navel inverted. 

There were seamstresses who let out clothing for pregnant omegas, but the rate was high, and higher still when they realized Jaskier was bearing pups for a Witcher. Better to put their coin towards more bedding, and cloth that Jaskier could clumsily stitch into wraps for the pups. 

Besides, why waste the coin when he could drive Geralt to distraction instead?

Jaskier grew wet so easily now, coaxed by Geralt wafting pheromones all over the place. When Geralt slipped a hand beneath the hem of his shirt, he found him hard and wanting. 

“You’re distracting,” Geralt told him. 

“My life’s ambition, achieved.”

"I need to be at my best tomorrow," he reminded Jaskier. The other just grinned.

"And for that you need a good night's rest."

"And you can help with that, can you?"

Jaskier purred, eyes half open as he dropped his head back against Geralt's shoulder and set his legs wider as his Alpha started to stroke him. He reached back to curl an arm around Geralt's head, tugging his silver hair just enough to pull a growl from him.

Jaskier missed sex. He missed sex a  _ lot. _ When the pups came - and it was only a matter of days now - he hoped he wouldn't be too exhausted to remind Geralt how lucky the bastard was to have him.

"You'll be glorious when you hunt tomorrow," Jaskier whispered, gasping as Geralt cupped his little cock in his palm and teased his fingers over his balls. "Just bloodlust and rage. If you could only  _ see _ yourself,  _ fuck." _

"Am I distracting you?"

_ "Yes, _ don't stop," Jaskier panted, grinning.

“I think I like hearing you extol my virtues.”

Jaskier snorted. “That’s a first.”

“So long as you don’t start  _ singing.” _

Jaskier rolled his eyes, and then let out a whimper as Geralt’s fingers sought out the sensitive space behind his balls, adding pressure until Jaskier moaned and rose up onto his tiptoes. 

“That’s unfair.”

“Making you squirm always seems fair to me.”

Jaskier sighed and rolled his backside back against Geralt’s hips, feeling the prominent swell of his erection blossoming. “I want you inside me.”

“The last time we tried that, you couldn’t get comfortable. I won’t hurt you for an  _ orgasm _ .”

"You have to think your way out of strange situations often, be creative," Jaskier whined, laughing when Geralt wrapped his arms around his middle instead, tugging him back to their nest.

"Incorrigible."

"You have to work for your supper," Jaskier grinned. "And you'd better, or I'll start singing at you. Loudly. You know I can make my voice carry enough to cover a banquet hall and -"

With a squeak of surprise, Jaskier was upended into the nest, Geralt's shirt riding up over his belly, falling open at his chest. He laughed as his Alpha kissed him, spreading his hands over his face just to feel his jaw working. When Geralt pulled back he considered his mate with narrowed eyes.

"Creative, you said?"

"I did."

Geralt grunted, taking a moment to just look at his beautiful Omega before climbing out of bed again. He ignored Jaskier's whine of protest and instead stripped himself bare before returning to him. The look he gave Jaskier was pure mischief as he straddled him, top to tail, and teased the head of his cock against Jaskier's lips.

"Work for your supper," he mimicked. "Put that mouth to good use."

Jaskier had the distinct impression he was being told to shut up, but he was far too amused to say anything. He twisted a bit, accommodating his own girth, and then reaching up to hold Geralt’s hips steady. 

Geralt was a mouthful, and then some. Jaskier had only had a few occasions to learn him with his tongue, and none had quite been enough to swallow him entirely. He had been large even before presenting, and he was the sort of Alpha who began to swell at the base even before his climax, presenting Jaskier with both a gift and a challenge. 

“Easy,” Geralt said, as Jaskier began to suck messily at the head, pushing the foreskin back with his tongue and swallowing greedily when fluid beaded up. He bent himself carefully over Jaskier’s belly, mouthing over the curve until he could lick at the purpling head of Jaskier’s little cock. Jaskier moaned, rolling his hips up towards that wet heat. 

It was hard to take it easy, when Geralt could swallow his entire cock in one easy bob of his head, when his fingers were beginning to tease at the slick rim of Jaskier’s instincts. 

It had been so uncomfortable last time, not at all worth the effort, but Jaskier longed to be fucked so  _ badly _ . With a whine, he rolled his hips towards Geralt’s searching fingers. 

Geralt stretched him with two fingers, teasing just on the verge of how deep he knew Jaskier wanted him as he sucked softly at his cock. Soft enough to not be enough, soft enough to pull a desperate whine from Jaskier that vibrated through him.

Needy, beautiful boy. Geralt ached for him too; the smell of him, the heat of him, the life he was carrying within him that the two of them had made together, he was an absolute temptation and it drove Geralt insane. 

Extraordinary thing. The fact that he’d brought this out in Geralt at all, that he stayed with him, wanted to…

“Geralt, I swear to -  _ fuck -  _ oh, fuck yes, just like that  _ oh,”  _ Jaskier’s hands replaced his mouth for a moment, stroking quickly, desperately as he caught his breath and arched up into Geralt’s mouth.

Geralt laughed, a low and pleased sound that made the cock in his mouth twitch and leak against his tongue. He curled his fingers and Jaskier came, shuddering and moaning in pleasure.

And then his mouth was back, just as attentive and hungry as before, and he took Geralt  _ deeper, _ hands and tongue and lips working to bring more and more pleasure to him.

It took little effort. Geralt was keyed up from his upcoming assignment, and primed to crave Jaskier in all his glory. The knot bumped against Jaskier’s lips, and he brought up a hand to massage it, coaxing wave after wave of fluid to flood his mouth and choke him. 

It spilled over the corner of his mouth, trickling down his teeth. Geralt turned overtop him and licked the mess from his jaw, nuzzling their cheeks together. “Such a good Omega,” he said, the words rusty and disused but the sentiment thick and intoxicating. 

“The best,” Jaskier assured him drowsily. 

Geralt tucked them both into the nest, curling around him until no part of Jaskier was exposed to the world. 

“I will return,” he said slowly. Jaskier snorted. 

“Of course you will. There was never any question.”

"Wasn't there?"

Neither answered, neither had to. There was always a worry, every time Geralt went out to hunt, that he would be hurt or exhausted or delayed, but not that he would abandon Jaskier. Not anymore.

But the closer they got to the pups' arrival, the more the unspoken panic hummed between them that Geralt could perish. Jaskier very deliberately avoided the topic, Geralt avoided it by hinting at how it could never happen.

Whatever worked, as long as it worked.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Litters came earlier than single pups. It was just one of those things. Jaskier was not quite as close to the end of the road as he would have liked to be, but not unreasonably early. If the pups chose to come today, they would be small, but thriving._
> 
> _But pregnancy came with a host of pains and discomforts. Jaskier had been struggling through unpleasantries for months now. They might not come today._
> 
> _And Geralt would be home soon._
> 
> PUPS!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for hanging with us and the guys on this journey, we had so much fun getting them here XD

Geralt left at dawn, nuzzling his sleepy mate awake only to remind him to eat, and that he would be home before the sun turned to afternoon. Jaskier heard him, squeezed his fingers between his own, then slept on.

They had paid for the room for three days, allowing them the night before Geralt's venture, the night of it, and the night after to rest somewhere that wasn't a pitched tent.

Jaskier appreciated it more than he could say. He could set his pride aside if need be and sleep outside, but he was worried that the pups would come soon and the last thing he wanted was to deliver them alone in the cold.

When he rose, he stretched with a groan, stifled a yawn against the back of his hand, and went to retrieve the two buckets of water that were left daily outside the door for their use. There was a well outside should they need more, but it was sufficient for drinking and a quick whore's bath by the fire. 

There was also food, some bread and cheese and cold meat that would have been left over from the night before. Absolute perfection for a growling belly and Jaskier devoured it with absolutely no shame.

It was when he was moving the second bucket into the room that he felt the first cramp against his abdomen, unwelcome and painful. He stopped, muttering something to the pups in his belly, and immediately looked to the window to gauge the time. Just in case.

Not quite high noon. Another hour or so, maybe as much as two. Jaskier had slept late. Geralt would be back soon. It would be fine. 

Litters came earlier than single pups. It was just one of those  _ things.  _ Jaskier was not quite as close to the end of the road as he would have liked to be, but not unreasonably early. If the pups chose to come today, they would be small, but thriving. 

But pregnancy came with a host of pains and discomforts. Jaskier had been struggling through unpleasantries for months now. They might  _ not _ come today. 

And Geralt would be home soon. 

An hour later, Jaskier felt wetness soak the nest. A cramp surged painfully through his belly. He was going into labor. Alone. 

“Fuck, fuck, oh  _ fuck, _ of  _ course _ this happens now,” he muttered, forcing himself to get up and make sure the door was locked. Once the screaming started the last thing he wanted was someone shoving in to “check on him”.

But he wasn’t ready, he wasn’t at all ready for this.

Jaskier set some water to boil and salvaged parts of the nest to build something haphazard but workable in front of the fire. Another cramp pulled a cry from his throat and he lay back with a groan.

“Right,” he mumbled. “Makes sense. This started in blood and madness, guess it ends here too.”

No, not ends. 

Worse. 

Begins. 

Beginnings were always scary.

Jaskier could barely see through the film of tears over his eyes when he glanced to the window again. It was the golden hour; evening. And Geralt was still not here. Still not home to protect Jaskier, to see his pups come into the world, and Jaskier was getting  _ irritated _ . Not only that, he was getting scared. And everything hurt and he couldn’t keep the sounds of pain inside anymore and he’d already called out to the concerned knocks on the door to leave him be.

With a groan he drew his knees up and felt around between his legs. Much more dilated now, and the contractions were coming faster and crueller. Jaskier whimpered and bit his lip.

“God, you better get out here before your father gets home,” he whined. “He needs a good screaming at, and you’re mine too, you’ll have a voice on you.”

They did. 

The pups were, in fact, born into the world in blood and sweat and screaming- more Jaskier’s than theirs, but plenty of the latter as well. 

When it was over, Jaskier could not even move to clean himself, or to climb into the remnants of clean nest left on the bed. He cut the cords and tidied the pups with one shaking hand, vision hazy and body soaked to the point of chill with sweat. 

They  _ were _ undersized, but not frighteningly so. The girl was a little bigger, but nearly bald, excepting soft whips of downy hair. The boy had been graced with Jaskier’s wild mop. 

Both had Jaskier’s lungs, and it was a struggle to get them swaddled and hushed. Nursing helped, though settling both at once when he could barely roll from his side to his back was a challenge all in itself. 

Jaskier ached. It was a well-earned ache, and he did not regret the small things in his arms, but it was pain nonetheless. And the sun had gone down, sometime in his screaming. The moon shone through the small window. 

They were still alone. Geralt had not returned. 

If Jaskier cried it didn’t matter, he’d been crying the entire time since the birthing began. At least, he told himself so. He wasn’t crying because he was scared and alone, he was crying because he was a mess and tired and filthy. He wanted a bath and a hot meal, he wanted more cloth for his nest, he wanted  _ Geralt _ to come home. God he wanted that damn Witcher to come home already. He’d wait as long as it took, he’d sleep next to Roach for warmth if he had to, he’d -

A crash outside startled him up, elbow beneath himself and other arm immediately up to curl beneath the bottoms of his sleepy little pups. Another crash and voices, hurried and muffled by the door, but one in particular -

“Geralt?”

Frantic knocking on the door and Jaskier lay back with a groan. There was no way he was getting up to unlock it now. He pressed a hand to his eyes and whined before turning his face to the door again. It was shaking, now, with the power of the knocking.

“Jaskier, let me in.”

“I can’t.”

“Let me  _ in, Omega.” _

“I  _ can’t, _ you insufferable brute,” Jaskier yelled back, but he was grinning. “I’ve just given birth to two squalling, messy little things - on my  _ own, _ might I add - and my hands are a  _ bit full.” _

A moment, during which Jaskier could not help but roll his eyes. There was no way Geralt could not  _ smell _ it, but perhaps having it said aloud had broken him in some small way. 

And then the pounding and scrabbling began anew. The innkeeper made an ungainly squawking noise, and then Geralt’s low growl filtered through. 

“If you do not get this door open I will break it down, and damn you and your  _ expenses. _ ”

There was the heavy jangling of keys and then the door swung open, Geralt bursting through. He spared Jaskier one wild-eyed look before whirling on the poor, terrified innkeeper. 

“Fresh blankets,” he growled. “Your own, if the guest linens aren’t soft enough. Hot water. A midwife to check him over, if your pitiful town can spare one.”

The innkeeper mumbled something about bills. Geralt leveled him with a stony glare. “You left my Omega to labor  _ alone _ . This is the least of what you owe him.”

“I told him not to come in,” Jaskier countered from behind him. Predictably, Geralt ignored him. Until the innkeeper was out of sight he stood in front of the door like a mountain of heavy breathing and hormones.

When he turned back to Jaskier, the other was watching him with a warm, amused expression, which he immediately schooled into something he hoped showed his displeasure.

“You’re  _ beyond _ late home, where the  _ fuck _ have you been, Geralt?”

“I was…” it didn’t matter, it didn’t matter because his mate was lying in a filthy nest with two - two - tiny little things squirming against his chest. They were wrapped in strips of cloth that Geralt recognized as one of his own shirts and they looked so, so fragile.

“Earth to Geralt,” Jaskier laughed, snapping his fingers to catch his attention. “Did you kill it?”

“Yes.”

“Did you smear it across the countryside like you’re so wont to do?”

“I… yes.”

Jaskier laughed, ducking his head when one of the babies made a warbled little noise. “Good,” he said. “Very good. Don’t bother taking a bath, yet, you’re about to get bloody all over again.”

“Are you -”

“Sore, I’m so sore, and I’m very hungry, and I would love to get clean,” Jaskier told him, looking up with a smile. “But I brought these two into the world and I haven’t been able to summon any more strength for the rest today.”

Geralt wavered. His eyes darted over the small bundles, one fast asleep, the other wriggling impatiently when Jaskier dared to try and set it down. Babies. They didn’t seem real. 

The frazzled and terrified innkeeper soon reappeared with what must have been his own linens, downy soft. 

“You’ll… he’ll be bathed, before he’s in them, won’t he?” He asked meekly. Geralt responded with a glare. 

Geralt was not the type to take advantage — he much preferred paying his way and earning his keep. He seemed furious with both himself and the innkeeper, however, and happy to make demands on Jaskier’s behalf. Soon, there was a fresh, clean nest on the bed, a tray of food beside it. Geralt cleaned Jaskier with tender, loving hands, flinching when he whimpered his distress. 

He had no trouble at all lifting Jaskier and gingerly settling him into the safety of the nest, but when it came to the bundles left in the carcass of the old nest, he could not bring himself to touch them. 

“Geralt,” Jaskier said, a touch of amusement in his voice, “we can’t just leave them on the  _ floor. _ ”

“I’ll hurt them.”

“You won’t.”

“Jaskier, they’re so  _ small,” _ he said, looking up with a bit of panic in his eyes. The bard snorted.

“They didn’t feel  _ small _ coming out of me, let me tell you. They’ll fit in the palm of your hand, Geralt, come on.”

That was the problem. They could fit into the palms of his hands. They were so absolutely incomprehensibly tiny that he would crush them just touching them. And he couldn’t. He just -

“One at a time, you big baby,” Jaskier told him, but he sounded fond. He watched as Geralt picked up the little boy first, carrying him over to Jaskier and settling him into the nest. Then the little girl. It occurred to Jaskier that Geralt most likely couldn’t  _ tell _ that he had one of each. As soon as they were both settled, Jaskier stroked his fingers lightly over his pups’ velvet-soft cheeks.

“She looks like you,” he said, smiling when Geralt’s breath caught and his fingers twitched. “And he… he’s definitely got your strength, if his suckling is anything to go by.”

Geralt swallowed, bringing the little pup closer to his face and breathing in her smell, letting himself take in the soft panes of her face. When he kissed her forehead she made a fussy little noise and shifted about in her swaddling.

“I can’t believe they’re real,” Geralt told him honestly, cradling the little girl against his arm as he reached out to touch his son, too. “I can’t believe we… made this. That you did this on your own.”

“I did,” Jaskier said grumpily, “and I’ll be holding it over your head for many years to come. Hope you didn’t want any more, by the way.” He curled around his son, pressing a kiss to his brow. 

Geralt shifted himself gingerly, until he was certain no part of his mate or their children could be seen from the locked door, and then he reached to trace a hand over Jaskier’s jaw, as he had the pups. 

“I’m sorry I wasn’t here,” he said, voice thick with longing. “I wanted to be.”

“You were out killing things and saving people,” Jaskier told him. “There will be times when you will have to leave for hours, perhaps for days. Best that they learn young that their father will always come back.”

Geralt swallowed. Jaskier rolled his eyes and reached out to swat him. 

“You  _ will  _ always come back. I’ve seen you, Geralt, I’ve yet to see anything that could cut you down.”

"And thus, such a thing cannot exist?"

"Precisely," Jaskier grinned. He was so sleepy, wanted nothing more than to curl up and rest for as long as the pups allowed it before they woke hungry, but he didn't want to close his eyes to Geralt.

He'd come back no worse for wear, but Jaskier wanted to see him, to touch him, to reassure himself that all was well.

So he did, a hand spreading over Geralt's chest to feel his heart beating beneath the fabric of his shirt.

"I'm glad you're back," he told him softly, smiling as Geralt leaned closer and licked his jaw before nuzzling there. Charmer. "We need to name them," he added. "And you better have more creative ideas than when you named your horse."

Geralt snorted, amused, and let his eyes remain half open to look at their pups sleeping between them, on their backs with their little limbs swaddled up. Delicate. Fragile. They would grow up to be as cunning as Jaskier in their wit and as fierce as Geralt in strength; they needed names to reflect that.

"I've never been good with words. That's your domain."

"Try," Jaskier encouraged him quietly.

Geralt looked at each tiny thing in turn. They looked much the same to him, excepting the hair. The little girl had hardly any, which seemed unfair. 

“Their eyes?” He asked. They’d been sleeping since he returned, except for minor bursts of scrunch-faced fussiness. 

“Mmm, blue,” Jaskier murmured. “But that doesn’t matter much. They’re all blue-eyed to start with.”

Geralt’s brow furrowed. Jaskier had to admit, he’d wondered if the pups were going to come out with eyes as golden as their father’s, but they’d had the pale baby blue of any other pup. 

“The color darkens later,” Jaskier said. “Haven’t you seen a newborn before, Geralt?”

“Parents don’t like to let me too close,” Geralt said. Jaskier didn’t press further. 

They laid together in silence, Geralt memorizing every feature of their children’s faces. “Casmir,” he said finally, “And Cynnia.”

Jaskier watched him until Geralt met his gaze, and smiled. He reached out to trace Geralt's lips before pressing close to kiss him, a lingering and gentle thing.

"They're perfect." He told him honestly. 

"They're beautiful."

"Well, you can take half the credit for that," Jaskier grinned, tucking himself around their pups while keeping his face close to Geralt's. "You'll be happy to hear they inherited my voice."

Geralt snorted, his smile spreading wider, and laughed when he couldn't contain it anymore. Of course they did. He was woefully unprepared for raising pups. He'd been woefully unprepared for being mated, too.

"And your wit, I hope."

"No, it would be nice to have someone else in the family that can brood as well as you do," Jaskier told him. "But I suppose we'll see."

Geralt nuzzled him, a purr burbling warm in his chest. "We will."

**Author's Note:**

> The title (we hope!! please let us know if you're Polish and we really fucked this up!!) means the equivalent of "to be sweet on someone" or "to have a crush". It translates literally to something like "to feel/smell mint on someone".
> 
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